


The Long Road Home

by Pennyplainknits



Series: Long Road Home [1]
Category: Bandom
Genre: AU, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennyplainknits/pseuds/Pennyplainknits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Brendon's jumping out of his skin. It's like everything is ramped up to eleven, everything brighter, hotter, clearer. </em> Or, bb!OT3 Road Head, which is what it was called in my Gdocs</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Road Home

**Author's Note:**

> The idea came from [](http://hermette.livejournal.com/profile)[**hermette**](http://hermette.livejournal.com/) and [](http://sadiane.livejournal.com/profile)[**sadiane**](http://sadiane.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://sadiane.livejournal.com/profile)[**sadiane**](http://sadiane.livejournal.com/) also helped thrash out a scene toward the end. This is a slight AU where Panic don't get signed straight away, but do some touring in a crappy van first. Beta and comma=wrangling by [](http://lalejandra.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**lalejandra**](http://lalejandra.dreamwidth.org/) , thank you!

Brendon's jumping out of his skin. It's like everything is ramped up to eleven, everything brighter, hotter, clearer. It was a tiny show in a tiny dive bar to all of 30 people, but from the second the first note rang out, they were _on_ , and Brendon knows that this is were he's meant to be, this is what he's meant to be doing.

It doesn't fade even after they say goodnight, make way for the main act, and lug all their shit back out to the van. Not even Ryan's complaining can put a damper on it.

"Stand the fuck still," Ryan says as he heaves the amp into the back of the van. "Seriously, Brendon, are you _high_?"

"No," Brendon hops from foot to foot, "I just still can't believe we get to _do_ this!"

"What?" Ryan hunches his shoulders against the fine mist of rain. "Live out of a van for 6 weeks?"

"Be _rock stars_." Brendon can't help it, he has to throw his arms round Ryan. "Seriously, you saw them out there. They _loved_ us. We're _doing_ it, Ryan, we're really doing it."

Ryan melts slightly into the hug, but then pushes him off.

"It's six weeks and tiny gigs. Pete might not even--"

But Brendon doesn't let him finish that thought. Because no, Pete Wentz didn't descend on them with a recording contract, but he got them this tour, and a promise of a contract if they could do this and not kill each other, and

"And this is just the _start_ , Ryan." Brendon jumps up and down, and right now he feels he could take on the world and win.

"Wow." Brendon feels hands on his shoulders. "That's some performance high you've got there, B."

Brendon leans back into Spencer.

"We're awesome," he says. "We're totally awesome, and we're going to be huge, and I never want to do anything but this ever again, Spence."

"He's totally riding up front with you," Brent says as he slots the bass amp into its spot "I need to sleep."

Brendon sticks his tongue out at him, but climbs up front with Spencer. Brent always crashes straight after shows, and Ryan likes to ponder over it, think about what to do next, the order of the songs. Only Brendon gets like this, more alive, more everything, and even after three shows he's already addicted to the feeling.

"Settle the fuck down," Spencer says after the third time Brendon's wriggled in his seat. The lights of the other cars flash by, painting Spencer's skin with splashes of yellow and red as he steers with one hand on the wheel.

"I can't," Brendon says, and jiggles his legs. It's like his blood's been replaced with Pop Rocks and he can't get his thoughts together. He wants to _move_ , to run or dance or fight or fuck and--

Oh.

There's an idea.

Brendon would be the first to say he doesn't have the best impulse control, especially not now, when it feels like the seat belt is the only thing that's keeping him tethered to the earth. It's so tempting to push all the adrenaline into a different kind of rush, and Spencer is right _there_ , all sweaty and sturdy and gorgeous, and so Brendon doesn't really think about it, just leans over and licks Spencer's neck, tasting salt.

"Brendon!" Spencer squeaks, leaning away as far as he can. "I'm _driving_."

"You can't multitask?" Brendon mumbles against Spencer's skin. Spencer can't move too far because he has his hands on the wheel, so Brendon licks him again.

"Cut it out," Spencer orders.

"Come on," Brendon wheedles, but it's not like Spencer could kiss him back anyway. He's just going to have to try something else.

Spencer's jeans aren't tight like his and Ryan's are, but Brendon can still feel the soft heat of Spencer's cock through the denim as he rubs his cheek against Spencer's crotch. They haven't done anything like this before, but Brendon can't think why at the moment. At the moment it feels like the best idea in the world.

"What the fuck?" Spencer hisses, and looks down at him, eyes wide and shocked.

"Eyes on the road," Brendon mumbles. He takes a deep breath, breathing in the smell of the bar still clinging to Spencer, smoke and beer and sweat. He feels and hand in his hair and he looks up.

"Brendon," Spencer says. He's looking straight ahead at the road, but his hand is gentle.

"Let me," Brendon says. He'll beg if he has to, but he _needs_ this, suddenly and completely. "Please." But he doesn't wait for an answer, just unbuttons Spencer's jeans and tugs the zipper down.

"Ryan and Brent," Spencer says. His thigh flexes under Brendon's hand as he presses the brake.

"Brent's asleep," Brendon says, which he knows is true. "Ryan's got his earbuds in." That's not true, as far as he knows, but something about Ryan maybe being able to _hear_ this makes it even more urgent. "Come on." Brendon breaths warm air over Spencer. "I'll make it good. I just _need_."

Spencer takes his hand off Brendon's head and puts it back on the wheel, and that's as much permission as Brendon needs. He rubs his cheek over Spencer's cock through the orange boxers and breaths in again, and here he can smell more, musk and sweat and Spencer beginning to be turned on, and he takes great gulps of it like air. Spencer makes a little cut off 'oh' and fumbles on the radio.

Brendon wants to strip Spencer bare and take his time. Whenever he's done this (and it hasn't been too many times that he can't remember them all), it's been rushed and hurried, but Spencer deserves to be _seen_. He can't, though,so he just nuzzles Spencer a little and tugs him out through the flap and licks the head of Spencer's cock, then sucks it into his mouth.

He feels Spencer go from half to fully-hard as he sucks. It's cramped and awkward and he can't really go that far down because of the angle, but this is exactly what he needs, the energy settling under his skin as he laps up and down Spencer's cock and breaths through his nose and uses his hand on the rest, twisting his wrist as well as he can in the small amount of space he has. Spencer's making tiny little huffs and pants above him, and Brendon wants to make him moan out loud, but then Spencer's muscles are tensing and he's coming. The van swerves from side to side as Spencer grunts, trying to be quiet. In the back, something falls over.

Brendon coughs; he's at the wrong angle to swallow and he doesn't much like it anyway. Come leaks out the side of his mouth and he grabs a McDonald’s napkin from the floor and spits a couple times. Spencer risks a glance over at him.

"I." Spencer coughs and starts again "I can pull over, if you want me to-" He gestures at Brendon's dick. Brendon's been half hard since the first applause.

"Just give me your hand." Brendon says, and Spencer hesitates, and unpeels his right hand from the wheel and Brendon presses it over his his crotch. Spencer's hand is warm through the fabric of his pants, and Brendon bucks up a couple times until Spencer tightens his grip and that's it, Brendon's coming, toes curling and pressing his shoulder blades back into the cracked leather of the seat.

He floats for a bit, and when he opens his eyes, Spencer's wound down the windows. He wiggles his pack of gum out of his pocket and folds up three pieces, chews until all he can taste is mint, not Spencer.

"This going to be a habit?" Spencer asks, and even in the dim street lights Brendon can see the blush on his cheeks. They haven't even _kissed_.

"Best post show yet," he mumbles. He's sleepy now, wrung out, the tension and adrenaline ebbed away. He leans against the window and closes his eyes, ignoring the sticky mess in his boxers. He thinks he feels Spencer brush the hair out of his face.

"Sleep," Spencer says. "I'll wake you when it’s your turn to drive."

  
He doesn't do it every night. Spencer doesn't drive every night, for one thing. Sometimes they have after parties-- or, at least, a bar or club to go to before the drive, and there are more than enough people for Brendon to work out the itch in his bones with, pretty girls and boys reaching for him, more and more as the tour goes on. And sometimes he's just too tired, or it's his turn to drive. That's the worst, having to concentrate on the road when his blood is still thrumming with melody and the cheers of the crowd.

It's best with Spencer, though. And, he thinks, maybe Spencer thinks so too, because he's totally driving more than his share. Even though Spencer could have his pick of, well, anyone.

"Wait, wait," Spencer pants. Brendon's got his pants unzipped and he's just tried a long swirl of a lick down Spencer's dick, and Spencer jerks again and says, "Stop."

Brendon pulls off.

"I'm sorry," he says, because he'd basically jumped Spencer as soon as he got the key in the ignition and maybe Spencer doesn't want this any more.

"No," Spencer whispers. "Let me pull over, I can't think when you do that, I don't want you to get us all killed."

"Hot _and_ sensible," Brendon says, and he clutches the edge of the seat to keep his hands to himself as Spencer pulls off to the side of the road. It's dark and mostly abandoned this far out of town. Brendon hopes they’ve been driving long enough that Ryan and Brent are asleep, lulled by the motion of the van and the post-show crash.

Brendon unbuckles his seat belt and is about to sink to the floor when Spencer says "hey, can I?" and before he can ask, "Can you what?" Brendon feels Spencer's lips on his, soft but insistent.

"I always want to do that," Spencer says "But you never give me the chance."

"Well, you need to watch the road," Brendon manages, because he'd never expected this, Spencer wanting this. Wanting more than a way to work off excess energy.

"Don't need to now," Spencer says, and Brendon leans forward to kiss him again, because he can, because Spencer _wants_ him _too_.

"Can I suck your dick now?" he asks after a while, and Spencer laughs and spreads his legs as far as he can, and Brendon settles in and sucks, trying that swirling lick, seeing as Spencer seemed to like it so much. He can smell Spencer all around him and feel Spencer's hand on the back of his neck, not pushing, just resting there, and Spencer's making these odd, muffled noises. Brendon looks up as much as he can and sees Spencer's biting his own _wrist_ , jesus christ, and he sucks harder and Spencer starts to come, eyes meeting Brendon's in a shock of blue even in the dark interior of the van.

He's hard, like always when he does this, but this time Spencer hauls him up and gets his hand on him, pressing through the front of his jeans, and Brendon bucks into it and goes to kiss Spencer until he realises Spencer probably doesn't want the taste of his own come in his mouth. He guesses wrong, though, because Spencer kisses him, and rubs again, hard, and Brendon shakes as he starts to come, panting into Spencer's mouth.

After a few seconds Ryan pipes up.

"Jesus, we can actually _hear_ you, you know."

"You're just jealous," Spencer says mildly, "and Brent's asleep;, I can hear him snoring from here."

"Whatever," Ryan sniffs. Brendon pokes his head over the front seat just in time to catch Ryan's glare. "Can we get on the road again now? Or do you guys want to _cuddle_."

"On our way," Spencer says. "We'll still get there in time, Ryan, chill out."

Ryan humphs and lies back down on the bench seat under one of the checkered blankets.

Spencer drives quietly for a few minutes and Brendon doesn't say anything. His boxers are sticky and disgusting, but it also feels...kind of cool. Spencer totally got him off. Again!

"Hey." Spencer reaches out for his hand and links their fingers together. "I totally would, you know."

"What?" Brendon asks.

"Cuddle."

Brendon squeezes his hand. "We have a motel night in 2 nights," he says tentatively.

Spencer kisses his knuckles, still looking out at the road.

"It’s a date," he says.

  
Brent is either totally oblivious, or good at faking it, because he doesn't say anything the next morning as they crowd into a diner and take turns to use the bathroom. Brent goes last, making them promise three times to order his breakfast.

Ryan's hair is dripping wet and smells of hand soap as he sits down next to Spencer and glare at him, then at Brendon.

Spencer pours him coffee and says, "Dude, don't drip on me."

"Don't do that again," Ryan says "Seriously, its dangerous."

"Um." Brendon cuts into his sunny side up egg. "We were parked. And you didn't complain any of the other times."

" _Other times_?" Ryan hisses. "What the hell, Brendon?"

"Its just, shows. You know," Brendon shrugs. He doesn't know how Ryan _doesn’t_ feel it.

"Shut up Ryan," Spencer says, but Ryan says suddenly

"So _that’s_ why you never complain about driving?"

Spencer hides his smile in his coffee cup.

"That is so totally unfair," Ryan pouts. " I never get road head."

"That's because you never fucking drive," Spencer says,

"No, because you're _bogarting_ Brendon's _mouth_ ," Ryan snaps.

Brendon almost chokes on his toast.

"Hey," Ryan says "it still counts as road head if you're in the back of the van."

"Does not," Brendon says, swallowing. "You have to have the element of danger."

"You just said it wasn't dangerous," Ryan says.

"Ryan," Spencer says again "Brendon would totally blow you if you drove."

Brendon's a bit taken aback but then he thinks _Ryan_ so he says "I totally would. I'd even buy you candy if you'll stop being such a whiny asshole."

"Who's being a whiny asshole?" Brent asks. His skin is pink from scrubbing and Brendon sees a few shaving nicks on his jaw. They've all gotton really good really quick at bathroom clean ups

"Ryan's upset they don't have the right kind of sausage," Spencer says blandly, and Brendon chokes again. Brent thumps him on the back.

"You ok, dude?" he asks.

"Fine," Brendon says. "We got your eggs," he said, to take his mind off Ryan, in the driving seat, the tight pull of his pants across his crotch, the noises he might make.

As they walk back to the van, Brendon can't help feel a little residual stab of arousal. This could be a problem, he thinks.

The show that night is their best yet, he thinks hazily, halfway through. Everything glitters at the edges, sharp and bright, and Ryan presses up next to him, sharing his mic, trailing his hand down his back, and every time he does that, the college crowd cheers a bit louder. Ryan's eyes are huge and intent on him, and he can feel Spencer watching too from behind him, and the attention of the crowd every time Ryan touches him, and he sings ‘Lying’ in a throaty whisper, growling out FUCK, feeling invincible and so turned on he could scream.

They have to break down quickly, because the actual band is on after them, but Ryan for once is not hanging around and all but runs out of the student union bar with his amp in hand and his guitar on his back.

Brendon feels full of something like sparks, like fire, and he never wants to get used to it.

"I'll drive," Ryan says when they get to the van. Brent just shrugs. He's got purple shadows under his eyes, and already looks nearly asleep. "You get some sleep, Brent. And Spencer drove last night."

"I don't expect I'll sleep for a bit." Spencer raises an eyebrow, and it feels like permission and a little like a promise, and Brendon needs to get his hands, his mouth, on _someone_.

There's a weird, tense silence in the front of the van as Ryan pulls out of the parking lot and they head out toward the expressway. It feels different than it does with Spencer and Brendon's suddenly uncertain. Ryan's not looking anywhere but at the road ahead, and he has a smudge of sweated-off eyeliner down one cheekbone, and Brendon hesitates, then reaches out and rubs one finger over Ryan's hip. Ryan gasps, mouth falling open, and it suddenly all slams back into Brendon, the show, the hot press of Ryan's fingers on the back of his neck as they took their bow.

He leans over, says, "Don't get us killed," and unclips the belt and folds his legs under him on the dirty floor of the van. Ryan's pants are tight, and his hard, pressing against the front of them, and Brendon fumbles, can't get them open, can't, not with the way Ryan twitches every time Brendon so much as touches him. Brendon wants to suck him, get his mouth around him and drive him crazy but he seriously can't get his fucking pants open.

"Why are your pants so tight," he whispers, "Seriously how do you _fit_ in them?"

"They were a lot less tight before you went all Marilyn fucking Monroe on ‘Lying’," Ryan gasps. "Jesus just _touch me_."

"I'm trying," Brendon says, and he gives up and just rubs his cheek over Ryan. He's so hard and Brendon can smell him but he can't get to him. He nuzzles him, open-mouthed, feeling the heat through the thin, striped fabric, and Ryan whines, and the van gives a sudden lurch to the right.

"Jesus, Ryan." Spencer's voice is suddenly close, and Brendon has to reach down and squeeze himself. "We are too young to die, eyes on the fucking road."

"You try it," Ryan gasps

"I _have_ ," Spencer says.

The material of Ryan's pants is wet now, and Brendon doesn't know if its spit or precome, but he sucks harder and Ryan jerks up again, and says, "Oh, oh," and Brendon realises he's _coming_ , just from that.

There's another lurch and a sequel of tires and Brendon realises they've stopped. He hopes it’s at the side of the road and not, like, in the middle of the expressway or whatever, but he doesn't really care, because Ryan's stroking over his face, his jaw, pressing at his lips until he opens them for Ryan's fingers to slide inside.

"God," Spencer breaths.

Ryan's looking down at him. "You didn't even get my _pants_ open." Brendon nods around Ryan's fingers and sucks, and he at least gets his own pants open before he comes.

Brendon doesn't get his promised cuddle the next night, because when they pull into the shitty motel parking lot and stumble up to the front desk, Brent latches onto his elbow and says,  
"Dibs on Brendon, he's the only one of you fuckers that doesn't kick in his sleep," and it's not like Brendon can say, "Actually I want the person I suck off to hug me like he promised."

So he says "You better let me be the big spoon," and waggles his eyebrows, and Brent knocks into him and says, "Idiot."

Spencer and Ryan aren't looking at each other, which Brendon thinks is weird. They've been kind of off all day, and it showed in the show. It was completely different to yesterday’s, sloppy and not one of their best. Brendon's actually glad he can sleep in a bed that doesn't move.

"Hey," he whispers into Spencer's ear as they ride up in the elevator, squashed into the little car. "You ok? Did I do something wrong? With Ryan." Because, Spencer had said. It had been his suggestion.

Spencer rubs his thumb over his hip, slipping up under his hoody to touch skin.

"No," he says, "no, it's fine. It was kind of hot," he says quietly, and Ryan is _right there_ , looking at them both.

"I’m going to sleep for a week," Brent says as the elevator door opens.

"You have 9 hours," Ryan says.

"Then no one wake me more than 5 minutes before we have to go," Brent amends, and he flops out onto the bed, and kicks his shoes off. "I mean it. I don't know how the rest of you seem so fucking cheerful about sleeping in that van.”

Ryan chokes down a laugh, and meets Spencer's eyes, and they're doing the best friend silent communication thing, which always makes Brendon feel a bit left out.

He takes a shower, letting the hot water beat down on his shoulders and rinse the sweat out of his hair. He jerks off quickly, to Spencer's blue eyes and the feel of Ryan's hand on his jaw.

The bedroom's dark, the only light the orange glow from the parking lot, but its enough to see Spencer and Ryan sleeping with a good foot of space between them, and that's wrong, because they always gravitate toward each other, and Brendon frowns. What the fuck has he done?

He slides into bed next to Brent, and looks up at the ceiling and takes longer than he likes to fall asleep.

  
They take most of the day to get to the next venue, a shitty bar with a sticky floor, and Spencer and Ryan must have sorted something out, Brendon thinks, because they're much tighter than they were last night.

Spencer herds him into the bathroom right after the show, and kisses him, and Brendon can still hear the remnants of the applause ringing in his ears, and he gasps when Spencer works a thigh between his legs to give him something to grind against. Spencer's hard too, and Brendon wants to go to his knees, he can almost taste him, but Spencer's got him pinned in place and just keeps kissing him and kissing him over and over like he's trying to make up for lost time. Brendon feels hands at his waistband, and then Spencer's got him in hand, and he doesn't even stop kissing him as he jerks him off, only standing back when Brendon starts to come.

"What was-" Brendon starts to ask, because this is changing the rules, and Spencer's still hard, and he wants to ask about a million questions.

Then someone is thumping on the door and Ryan calls

"Come on we have to hit the road," and Spencer shakes his head when Brendon reaches for him.

"I'm good," he says. "That was for you."

"Hey," Brendon says, "are you and Ryan ok?"

"I MEAN IT, BRENDON," Ryan yells through the door, and Spencer slides the lock and pushes the door open, and doesn't answer. Ryan doesn't look at him, but as Brendon walks past him, he puts a hand out to stop him.

"You're unbuttoned," he says, and Brendon stands, stunned, as Ryan buttons up his pants and zips him up. Then he pecks his cheek so quickly Brendon thinks he might have imagined it.

"Did you and Spencer have a fight or something?" Brendon asks, because for Ryan to not even say anything, no sarcastic eye roll, nothing.

"Get in the van," Ryan says, "I'm driving."

"Is that an invitation?" Brendon says, because its not like he'd mind, even if it made Spencer even weirder. They both want him, and it’s new and thrilling, just like being onstage.

"Brent's riding up front," Ryan says. "We're going to split the drive. You get some sleep."

Brendon wants to say he's too wired to sleep, but he gets sleepy when he comes, and he can already feel his eyes drooping.

"I don't want to break up the band," he says sleepily as he slides onto the bench seat next to Spencer. "I'll stop." He doesn't want to, oh, he really doesn't, but he also wants the band so badly he'd give up almost anything. He still gets their friendship, and that has to be enough.

Spencer leans against him and kisses the top of his head.

"It's not you," he says "It's Ryan being an idiot and not going for what he wants. Go to sleep."

Ryan kisses him in the dressing room (janitor's closet, really) in the next venue, stroking their tongues together. He says, "Please, please," and Brendon _wants_ , and he feels Ryan's thighs shudder under his hands as he slips to his knees and buries his face in Ryan's crotch and sucks him sloppily. Ryan's bigger than Spencer and Brendon can't risk not being able to sing, so he licks around him and jerks him off with a saliva-wet hand, and Ryan shakily pushes Brendon's hair out of his face and meets his eyes as he comes.

"You're going to be so fucking beautiful out there," Ryan says between kisses, "you always are, all those people wanting you, and you wanting them right back, god, you love it," and he's jerking him off, callouses catching, and Brendon groans into Ryan's mouth so he doesn't say there's only two people he wants, but that they don't want each other, and he doesn't know how that works.

Spencer catches his wrist as they are about to go onstage, and kisses him in a dark corner, and Brendon smiles into it, because he knows what Spencer's tasting.

"This is going to be a great show," he says, with more certainty than he feels, at the look on Spencer's face.

It is a great show. It's a fucking awesome show. They're four weeks into the tour, and they're getting better every night, and there are people in the audience who know the _words_ , who are singing along, who stretch out their hands and shout for specific songs, and who cheer when Brendon smiles at them. He wants this, every night, forever, and he wants Spencer and Ryan to share it with him, to fly with him onstage and off.

Brent's driving after the show. They drew straws as always, and Brent looked confused when Ryan and Spencer both sighed in frustration at the long straw (well, coffee stirrer) in their hands.

Brendon gets into the front seat because he doesn't really want to talk to either of them until he's figured some shit out.

Except he can't concentrate. He;s still buzzing and turned on and he needs it, needs the touch and the focus, and he hasn't got time to plan, but he knows what he wants, and when he sees the sign for the truck stop ahead he makes a snap decision. He's allowed to do that. He's a rock star, everyone knows they aren't stable.

"Brent, hey, Brent," he says and jabs Brent in the arm with a finger. "Can we pull over up there?"

"Dude," Brent says, "we've been driving less than an hour."

"Too much Red Bull," Brendon squirms in the seat and tries to make it convincing. "I need to pee."

"Couldn't you go before we left?" Brent huffs.

"What are you, my mom?" Brendon says. "Come on, pull over. I'll buy you coffee or something.”

Brent sighs, but signals when the intersection comes up and pulls into the truck stop.

Brendon jumps down and thumps on the back door of the van.

"Bathroom stop," he says. the door slides open and Spencer looks out, and Brendon reaches in and grabs him by the wrist, grabs Ryan's hand and says, "Come on, come on."

He's twitchy and desperate and Spencer and Ryan still aren't talking, but they follow along and he drags them both into the restroom. He can feel Spencer pulling away but he says, "Please, Spence, I need it, I want it, and I know you do too."

He's about to kneel, but Spencer says "Wait," and Brendon's about to explode, but Spencer just unzips his hoody and puts it on the floor.

"It's dirty there," Spencer says, and Brendon has to choke back something, because he's about to blow him in a truck stop bathroom while his best friend watches-- but of course, what Spencer's worried about is Brendon getting his knees dirty.

"Spencer," he says and he kisses him, because Spencer is amazing and he should be kissed all the time, and then he curls his legs under him, cushioned by Spencer's cream hoody, which is going to be totally ruined now, and reaches for Spencer's belt.

"Do you want me to go?" Ryan sounds unsure, and he should never sound like that.

Brendon says, "Stay," at the same time Spencer does, and Spencer reaches out for Ryan and grabs the sleeve of his jacket.

"Stay," Spencer says again.

Brendon knows how to do this now, how to get Spencer making the little whimpering noises he loves so much, how to pin his hips so he doesn't get choked, knows the scent and taste and weight of him. He knows he needs to be quick, so he sucks hard, pressing with the tip of his tongue, and Spencer makes a cut-off gasp, so Brendon does it again, and then he feels a hand in his hair, fingers rubbing over his scalp. Spencer doesn't touch him like this, thinks it's pushy, but Brendon opens his eyes to be sure, and looks up, and it's Ryan's hand in his hair, and Ryan's mouth on Spencer's.

They're kissing like they've been waiting their whole lives to do it, beautiful and intent. Brendon can see flashes of tongue, and he groans around Spencer's dick, and Spencer jerks forward, and pulls his mouth away to pant, "Close," and Brendon sucks harder and swallows as much as he can when Spencer starts to come, and Ryan's hand tightens in his hair even as he pulls away.

Then Ryan's on his knees next to him and forcing his head back and kissing him, licking every trace of Spencer out of his mouth, and Spencer gasps, "Fuck, Ryan, Brendon," and Ryan says, "Want to watch as he jerks you off Brendon, god, do you see his hands? Are they as good as they look?" and Brendon says, "If someone doesn't touch me it'll be too late."

Spencer slides down the wall and reaches for Brendon, and Ryan kisses his neck as Spencer jerks him off. Brendon can feel the movement of Ryan's arm and thinks he must be jerking himself off, but all he can focus on is the twist of Spencer's wrist. He has no idea how long they've been in here, but Spencer and Ryan are kissing again, pressing him between them, and he thinks he could stay here forever.

When he comes, it’s almost a surprise, so focused is he on Spencer and Ryan. They tumble out of the bathroom holding hands, but it's like a dam has burst, because Spencer and Ryan can't stop kissing, and Brendon thinks of all the years of want that must have been building up.

When they get back to the van, Brent isn't there. Ryan climbs into the back and tugs Spencer after him, and Brendon's suddenly hesitant. What if, after this, they don't want him. he can't compete with all those years of friendship.

Then Spencer says, "What are you waiting for, Brendon, get in here."

Ryan reaches for him as he climbs in and kisses him again, and then says, "Can you kiss Spence? I want to see."

"Like you have to ask," Brendon says over the rush of relief, and Spencer pushes him down onto the seat and Ryan cradles his head as Spencer kisses him, playing with the ends of his hair. He can _have_ this, Brendon thinks as he sweeps his hand down Spencer's back to rest on his ass. They can have this, and it feels like the best show ever.

"Hey guys, they didn't have any- _fuck_ ," Brent trails off and stares at them. Brendon knows his mouth is red, and his hair is kind of epically fucked, and there's no way they don’t look like they've been doing exactly what they've been doing.

"What the _fuck_?" Brent asks. " _Now_ I know why you guys never complained about driving."

"We can explain," Ryan says, because Spencer, god damn him, is laughing, giggling into Brendon's neck, and Brendon can't help it, he starts laughing too.

"You don't need to, I can guess," Brent says. He reaches past them for his backpack. "I'm putting the fucking radio on. Don't get anything on the seats. And it's still Brendon's turn to drive next. You promised me coffee, you fucker."

Spencer's still laughing, but Brendon pushes himself up on his elbows and says "I will buy you _all_ the coffee, Brent, promise."

"Whatever," Brent says, "I'm putting newspaper down the next time I have to sit back there."

Spencer snorts and Ryan pets his hair.

"So we're really doing this?" Spencer asks softly as Brent turns on the radio and Bon Jovi echoes around the van.

"We're rockstars," Brendon says with conviction, "we can do whatever we want, right, Ryan?"

"I don't know," Ryan says. "I just know I want this, and I hated not having it."

"Good enough for me," Brendon says, and snuggles into Ryan's lap. Ryan reaches out and pulls one of the blankets over them and they fall asleep in a tangled, cramped pile.

Brent calls a band meeting the next morning as soon as Brendon parks the van in the weed strewn parking lot of a diner.

"Seriously, guys," he says, twisting round in the passenger seat to stare at Ryan and Spencer. Ryan has his hands under Spencer's hoody. "Happy for you, couldn't be happier, but seriously, not in the van. I have to _sleep_ in here."

"Its kind of a bit late for that," Brendon says apologetically. Brent splutters and Ryan says "B, don't give our bassist a heart attack before we're even signed."

"I'm just saying," Brendon says.

Spencer frowns at him and says,

"We'll try not to. We only have three weeks, and some of them are motel nights. But we're not going to stop being affectionate."

"I'm not asking that," Brent says, looking hurt, "who do you think I am? I just don't want to risk sitting in any jizz."

"Point," Spencer nods. "Come on, Brendon owes us all coffee."

"I owe _Brent_ coffee," Brendon protests.

Ryan and Spencer turn identical expressions on Brendon, and he folds.

"When I can't afford toothpaste next week, I hope you realise its your fault," he says, as they pile into the diner and stake out the table at the back.

"We can share," Spencer says. "We're getting pretty good at that."

  
The tour seems to speed up. They're still playing in shitty bars and clubs, and a whole string of college campuses where they get paid in creased, beer stained bills and boxes of pizza. Brent eyes them whenever Brendon climbs into the front seat, but they keep their promises. Dressing rooms have slightly more room to spread out, anyway, and Brendon's glad they're all kind of small when it comes to motel nights, so they can fit squeezed in to one queen bed.

  
Ryan touches him all the time on stage now, and he spends each night half-hard from the first song, from the way Spencer kisses him before they head out.

"Do you guys dream?" Ryan asks the crowd one night, a week before the end of tour, "I had a dream last night." He looks sidelong at Brendon, and Brendon knows where this is going. "Running through a field of flowers in Maytime. My lover was running toward me." He takes a couple of steps towards Brendon." The wind blowing through their lovely, lavish locks." He's right up in Brendon's space, and Brendon knows what's coming, Ryan's hand in his hair tilting his head back as the crowd screams. "I leaned in for one, perfect, passionate kiss and..." Ryan trails off with his mouth a fraction away from Brendon's and Brendon can smell the cinnamon gum Ryan chews. He rocks up on his toes, trying to get closer, closer. "But this isn't that dream," Ryan turns back to the crowd and winks, and picks out the introduction of ‘Lying’ and Brendon has to catch his breath before he starts to sing.

"Tease," Brendon presses into the back of Ryan's neck as the run off stage. "You fucking tease. Every fucking time."

"I'll pay you back," Ryan says, "Motel night tonight, right?"

"Better pay me back too." Spencer comes up behind him and kisses Ryan's neck, and leans over to kiss Brendon. "Seeing as I just have to watch you every night."

"I like that," Brendon says against his ear. "I like you watching."

"Like that was hard to figure out," Ryan says.

They’d picked up an extra show earlier that week, and Brent decides to use his cut for a room alone when he sees the three of them wrapped up in each other, staggering back to the van. Brendon's nearly got Ryan's pants open, and he whines when Ryan bats his hands away and says,"Wait."

The motel room is small, and cramped, but there's a bed and it's big enough for three, and that's all that matters. Spencer pushes him back to the bed and Brendon flops onto it, surprised, because he's usually on his knees right about now.

"Not tonight," Spencer says, and he's pulling Brendon's shoes off at the same time as Ryan's unbuttoning his shirt. Brendon's surrounded by hot awesome people and neither of them will let him blow them, it's kind of frustrating. "This is all for you. We want to pay you back."

"it's not _like_ that," Brendon starts, but Spencer shuts him up with a kiss.

"I know," Spencer says. "But I like to be good at things, so clearly I need to practice. And you need to tell me how to do it."

"What about Ryan?" Brendon asks.

Ryan kisses his neck. "Trust me, I'll be fine," he says "Spencer needs to practice, and I love hearing you. Win win."

"You've planned this," Brendon manages to get out, because Spencer is licking his hip, and he had no idea that would feel so good.

"Maybe," Ryan says. "Now, what should Spencer do first?"

  
Brendon can scarcely move the next morning. Spencer curls into his side even tighter as Ryan opens the curtains. He doesn't want to face the world.

"We should do that every night," he says sleepily.

"When the tour finishes we can," Spencer mumbles. "Or at least most nights. You have that apartment, remember?"

Brendon tightens his arm around him. "Really," he asks, "this isn't just a tour thing?"

"Would I risk the band for a tour thing?" Ryan asks. He slides in and spoons up behind Brendon, reaches over to touch Spencer's shoulder.

"Oh," Brendon says, and sags back into him. "That's good."

"You really thought we wouldn't want to carry on?" Spencer asks him later. They're sitting in the dressing room. Ryan's straightening his hair in the mirror.

"I thought there would be a limit to the amount of good things that could happen to me," Brendon admits.

Spencer slips his arm around him and kisses him softly.

"All the good things," he says. "We can have them all. You deserve them."

"So do you," Brendon says.

"I'm lucky then," Spencer says, and he nods over at Ryan. "I have them."

  
Their last gig is at a festival in California. Fall Out Boy are opening, and they have an afternoon slot at a side stage, and they’re playing early enough that they can see most of the rest of the bands. Brendon wants to see William Beckett if it kills him. Ryan's kind of freaking out at seeing Pete again, at what he'll say when he sees them.

"RY," Spencer shouts at last, the night before. "We are great. You've seen the crowds, the way they react. You and Brendon are hot as fuck. People _like_ us. If Pete doesn't sign us, someone else will."

"He's right," Brent says, but he doesn't look too convinced. "Either way, we get to go home in a few days. I can't wait for a decent bed and a shower longer than 5 minutes."

"We'll be great," Brendon says. "Seriously."

That night, Ryan gets his makeup case out, and asks

"Can I try something?"

He's fiddling with the eyeliner, flipping it over and through his fingers, and Brendon is briefly mesmerised.

"I thought, last show, we could dress up a bit?" Ryan says.

"What do you mean?" Spencer asks, and Brendon knows he's doing the same thing, mentally running through what clothes he even has clean, trying to see if any of those seem to fit "dress up" in Ryan's world.

"Just some makeup," Ryan says "Like, designs? It could look good?"

Ryan's eyes always look so huge in his eyeliner, the delicate patterns across his cheekbones, and Brendon doesn't think he'll look half as pretty, but it would be cool, make them stand out, so he says

"Sure. You want to try now?"

Ryan nods and crawls onto the bed, to where Brendon is sitting with his back to Spencer's chest, and opens the liquid liner with its delicate brush.

Brendon's expecting it to tickle, and it does, but in a way that has him squirming back against Spencer at the first touch of the brush to his eyelid, tickly, but at the edge of something else.

"You need to stay still or I'll smudge you," Ryan says, and Spencer's hands land on Brendon's thighs, pressing, keeping him in place.

"It tickles," Brendon says, but Ryan just carries on. He seems to be painting a lot of small symbols that wander down Brendon's cheek toward his neck. The brush is the lightest pressure, and each touch sends a tiny tiny fizz of something through Brendon. He can smell the wet of the eyeliner, the slight waxiness of the pencil when Ryan switches to a different colour. Spencer's breathing heavily, a warm presence at his back, and he has his chin hooked over Brendon's shoulder to watch.

Ryan's tongue is peeking out, bitten between his teeth as he tilts Brendon's head with a firm hand to get at his jaw. It's hypnotic, the movement of pencil over skin, and Ryan is completely focused on him; it's heady. It's a different feeling than playing a show, but he kind of likes it. He's so close he can see every pore in Ryan's skin.

"I need more space," Ryan says, and Brendon's about to move, but Ryan hands the liner to Spencer and unbuttons Brendon's shirt, parting it.

"Don't think anyone's going to see anything there," Spencer murmurs in his ear, but Ryan's gone somewhere else, tracing the pencil down across Brendon's collarbones. Brendon feels like he's been hard forever, and he can feel Spencer's dick press against the small of his back. IThey haven't fucked yet, sticking to hands and mouths, but Brendon's putting it to the top of his list when they get home.

Brendon tries to squint down to see what Ryan's writing, but Spencer turns his head and kisses him, and says, "No peeking," and the stroke of his tongue inside Brendon's mouth is as soft as the touch of Ryan's eyeliner on his skin.

"You can help me do Spencer next," Ryan says, after what feels like hours. "I think I got a bit carried away. I just, you were so still."

"Can I look now?" Brendon asks. Ryan sits back on his heels and Spencer lets him go, and Brendon swings suddenly-shaking legs off the bed and pads to the mirror.

It's nothing he could wear on stage, though he likes the starburst that fans out from the corner of his eye across his cheek, and thinks he'll ask Ryan to do it again tomorrow, and put a matching one on Spencer, blue, like his eyes. Its the linked chain of symbols that Ryan spent the most time on, wandering down from his cheek and jaw and along his collarbone to spiral in over his heart.

Spencer comes up behind him and cranes his head to look, studying him, and Brendon can hear his own pulse hammer in his ears at the attention as Spencer's fingers hover over the drawing.

"Drum notation." he says. Brendon squints in the mirror, and now that Spencer's said it, he can see it. Drum notation and musical notes and lyrics in Ryan's spidery writing, splitting down from the starburst and weaving in and out of each other in shifting patterns of blue, green and black to come together in a spiralling knot over Brendon's heart.

"Is this-us?" he asks, and his voice shakes. He's so hard it hurts, all from Ryan just drawing on him.

Ryan just nods. Brendon goes to kiss him, but Spencer's already there, so he watches them, then, when Spencer pulls back, swoops in and kisses Ryan, then Spencer.

"We're beautiful," he says.

The makeup washes off in the shower next morning, those bits that hadn't sweat off or got smeared with come, but Ryan draws the starburst on all of them the next day, and when Brendon sings the set that gets them signed with DecayDance, it’s with interlinked Rs, Ss and Bs over his heart in both Ryan and Spencer’s hand.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is totally not real people. I'm borrowing faces and names.


End file.
